


Pillow Books

by SeymoreSinn



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen, The Pillow Book of Sei Shonogon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeymoreSinn/pseuds/SeymoreSinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Phlox and Hoshi's freindship for the Star Trek Freindship Fest 2015</p><p>Reposted to reflect some mild editing, because I was a little unsatisfied with my submitted version.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Books

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frakme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frakme/gifts).



> I'm afraid I don't know much about the Enterprise series, in fact I've only seen the first two episodes. But I do know a little bit about making friends and sharing cultures, and I did spend part of my childhood in Japan.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this offering, in spite of my ignorance.

It began with rice.

Hoshi’s first few weeks aboard the Enterprise were a haze of insecurity, adrenaline and nausea. When she could force herself into the galley all she wanted was comfort, and ever since she was a little girl, comfort had meant one thing.

Rice…or - in the case of the ship’s kitchen - a reasonable facsimile thereof. The protein resequencer did a passible job at the taste and texture, and even enhanced the nutrition somewhat. If she closed her eyes while she ate, she could almost imagine her first taste of new spring rice…

The first time Phlox sat down to eat with her - shortly after that rather embarrassing incident with the slug - he commented that it looked like grubs.

For a moment she couldn’t decide wether to punch him or laugh.

Since it mostly seemed to point up the - er -lesser qualities of her lunch…she settled on laugher. She told him it mostly tasted like grubs too.

It was start of many such conversations, of many things shared. But that first time, with Hoshi still somewhat tentative and shy, they talked about memories of food.

She told him about the first time she’d eaten new spring rice. Running across the wet cobbles of her grandparent’s street in high, awkward getta. She saw that little alleyway in her minds eye - from the low perspective of a six-year-old. The celadon green kimono her mother made her wear for such visits, holding it up and out of the way as she ran ahead with a clatter and a cry of “granpa!” Sitting cuddled in Oji-chan’s lap, enfolded in his warmth and the sweet smell of pipe tobacco, eating together. The rough-glazed pink dish that was her’s ‘for special’ and the blue painted chopsticks with her name on them. The first rice of spring, in a sweet cloud of steam, as white as little pearls. She remembered how it held together in gentle clumps and had a scent like green growing thinks and perfect belonging.

He, in turn, told her about the hot season on Denobula. Of long indigo nights by the river in the Kaybin District. Of meeting many mates there under the cool river-winds, of the hectic dancing and the music. Oh the sensual, frenetic music! The leisurely courting-meals competing restaurants would set out on terraced walks. Of cold tranya in tall glasses, enticing fruits floating in bowls of spiced wine and ice, and broad plates of noodles, cherry-red in a sweet/sour dressing, flecked with aphrodisiac herbs. All beckoning to passing lovers, ‘come and share!’ The first time he’d fed Freezal from his own plate, with his own hand. He remembered thinking that he would like that starry night to last forever. How she had consented to become his second wife.

 

Over time these meal-time talks expanded. They talked about science and language, medicine, culture and books. She told him about the common cultural ground between China (home of Phlox’s favorite Earth cuisine) and Japan, and how that had become two vastly different and richly textured histories. Eventually she managed to find a copy of “The Pillow Book of Sei Shonogon” to lend him.

“In Spring it is the Dawn that is most beautiful. As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines are dyed a faint red and wisps of purplish clouds trail over them…”

Was the spring a symbolically important time?

It was. They saw it as a time of new beginnings. When the natural world renewed itself and the human world celebrated with ritual.

“Anything purple is splendid, be it flowers, thread or paper.”

On Denobula purple is a traditional color for wedding clothes.

All weddings?

Yes, though which colors one wears with the purple changes. The first wedding is purple and dark red, the second is purple and dark blue, and so on.

I like that idea. Maybe I’ll have a purple wedding someday.

You should! I think a nice dark purple would be very becoming on you.

“One day Lord Korechika, the Minister of the Centre, brought the Empress a bundle of notebooks. ‘What shall we do with the?’ Her Majesty asked me…’Let me make them into a pillow,’ I said. ‘Very well,’ said Her Majesty. ‘You may have them”

Why would somebody make a pillow out of bound paper?

It wasn’t literally a pillow, though the ancient Japanese used these box-shaped pillows that were roughly the size and shape of their notebooks. In this case the term ‘pillow’ just meant it was private.

Ah! So in this case a ‘pillow book’ is a diary.

In a way, but it wasn’t written as a collection of commentaries on things that happened on this or that particular day. It was more often than not a collection of random things. Stories, anecdotes, poems and recollections…gossip and confidences too.

So the writer would confide in the book?

I suppose you could think of it like that, yes.

How interesting! I also rather like how she records the ‘visits’ of men. it’s all very clandestine.

At the time it was something of an open secret…is there any tradition like this on Denobula?

Not exactly. Though back in the pre-spacefaring days there was one historical period that had…I believe they were called ‘books of secret music.’

That sounds beautiful.

I somehow doubt it was.

Why is that?

Well, they were books held as a kind of community property of the household. Everybody would write in it, taking great care to remain anonymous, whatever particular confidences they felt the need to share.

Anonymously.

Well, yes. It was seen as a way to maintain openness and clarity within a community.

I can’t help but think that is a fast way to hurt a lot of people’s feelings.

True, but even the expectation of privacy does not guarantee that people will not eventually read your confidences. After all, did you not tell me that the Lady Shonagon faced considerable censure when her writings were taken and widely circulated?

She did.

Well then?

Well then.

…

Can you tell me more about these ‘books of secret music?’

Well, only a very few examples survive. But those we do know about seem to hail mostly from the seaside regions…


End file.
